Take Your Time
by teceraca
Summary: Akihiko seeks solace in Minako, without even thinking about it.


The toes of Minako's shoes tap the floor to the beat of her music. It sends waves up her legs and vibrations against her belly which distract from the pain of lying so long braced by busy elbows. Mozart. She'd heard the rhythm of a classical composer could help one focus when studying math. Pages of problems fan out in front of her prone body along with the notebook she's scrawling numbers into. Challenging, but she's on a roll.

She startles just barely when a backside slides itself into the curve below her ribcage and a waist starts leaning against her own. Her features immediately relax from stern concentration. There's only one person who _fits_ into her like **he** does. She continues her work and leaves Akihiko to his advances. He knows what headphones mean, but it's not that company itself is unwelcome.

It begins with the ghosting of a glove against the base of her hairline; then he trails slowly up and down between the lengths of hair pulled tight underneath her ponytail. The scrape of rough, worn textile against her skin is so delectably **him** that she can't help but give her neck a small arch to push back into it. (She's known Theo's caress too, but _soft_ and _impressionable_ cotton holds no weight in comparison to **strong** leather with _**just**_ the right amount of **adaptability**.) The gentle attention to her head mixing with the harmony of _Adagio in E Major_ holds her senses near her mind, and the watchful eyes she feels fuel her desire to impress, whether he holds any thought towards her assignment or not.

More answers fill the lines. As she reaches to turn the page, he glides his hands higher on her head. When she feels the push underneath her hairband and the assist to help pull it away, the paper rips between thumb and forefinger. A sharp intake of air rushes as quick as the single, dulled thump of the pencil in her other hand dropping to carpet. It's not that she hadn't let her hair down for him before; she had. Nor that he didn't have permission for that level of intimacy again; he did. But it's no less _jarring_ when something she'd only consciously offered before is suddenly **taken** by the Emperor's command. A shock to her system he always will be.

She barely has time to compose herself with a small swallow before his gloves are tossed aside with the coated elastic. Warm fingertips touch her temple before raking through auburn waves and ruffling their ends how he sees fit. The combing continues, and printed numbers begin to dance and spiral like a clock face shattering. Much like the hidden hour, darkness shadows her eyes, and she succumbs to soothing tingles. Her head sinks lower, and she finally removes the speakers from her ears. Her chin touches down to the textbook which pushes a contented "mmph" from her throat.

She lets time pass; lets him continue the continuances of thought, because she's happy just soaking up the emotion of it. His actions soon fade to one arm resting on her back while the other hand rolls strands behind her ear in absent-mindedness. She lays her head to the side and speaks over her shoulder with a smile, "So were you digging for the answers to the universe, or just trying to forget some question ever existed in the first place?"

She sits up and watches him shake his head back to reality. She crawls around and sits in his lap. A broken answer forms from a pale face, "No! I- I just… wanted…" Arms wrap around her belly and he squeezes her like he does his fists. He buries his face in loose hair and pushes his forehead against her back. Funny how right when he'd become a little more confident and eloquent, words became so unnecessary between them. _Nothing_. He wanted nothing. Not permanently like the Lost or the promises of the Fall. Just a little. _Empty like zero. S_ he'd come to appreciate its chance for new growth; new angles and ideas.

It's not a question he wants to forget, but a choice. One posed to them by Ryoji Mochizuki. To her, a simple one; only one option to begin with. She'd been watching the rest of the team struggle, though, and so keeps silent until they form their own opinions. She tilts her head back, and seizes the opportunity to retaliate. She reaches behind and runs a hand through his hair before bracing it at the back of his head. Funny too, how one so eager to break limits now feels like he drowns in the gap between an ultimatum, and looks to her for solid _structure_ to contain pressurized speculations. She whispers assurances presented doubly (if he cared to hear) as an **offer** , _"Take your time, love."_

There would be enough. Time. A future. New springs. There **had** to be. She'd make sure of it.


End file.
